


One Last Adventure

by tzitzimeme



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Final boss spoilers, Gen, Last Endgame Dungeon Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-17 16:05:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15465075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tzitzimeme/pseuds/tzitzimeme
Summary: One year after the eight of them part ways, Cyrus realizes that they might, once again, be the only people in the world between Orsterra and eternal damnation.





	1. the beginning of the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPOILERS FOR THE LAST DUNGEON YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED MY FRIENDS

Cyrus wakes to the sound of knocking on his window.

Even as he’s half-asleep, his mind quickly makes sense of the situation. Clearly, whoever’s knocking is a skilled climber, seeing that his office is on the second floor of a gigantic academy. Secondly, they likely have no ill intent, seeing as robbers wouldn’t politely announce their presence in such a way. As he rubs his eyes and turns towards the window, blinking blearily at the afternoon sun glaring through the glass, he gets up and deduces that the person outside could be no one else but–

“Therion,” Cyrus greets, opening the window. “While it’s good to see you, I do wish you could take the front door once in a while.”

“They wouldn’t let me in,” Therion deadpans. It’s been a year since their little band of adventurers have gone their separate ways, and while Therion seems pretty alright, his clothes have definitely seen better days. Then again, his clothes have always been a ratty mess from day one. There’s no surprise that he would be denied at the gate. “And it’s urgent.”

Cyrus backs off, letting Therion into the room. He has a feeling that this visit isn’t just for niceties and a cup of tea. “Speak on, my friend.”

“...Outside,” Therion says. “Primrose and Alfyn are waiting.”

“The both of them are here as well?” Cyrus grabs his robe to look at least a little more presentable, messy unbrushed hair and ink-stained fingers aside. “Goodness, I must have missed word of a reunion.”

“I’m not surprised. You look like you’ve been living in this... den... for years,” Therion says, gesturing towards the mess of books that make up Cyrus’ workspace. “But we didn’t send word. It’s impromptu.”

Cyrus buttons his collar and grabs his key. “Well, let’s not dally, then. Lead the way.”

\---

Something about Atlasdam has always made Alfyn feel out of place.

Perhaps the city’s reputation as the capital of knowledge makes him feel a little outclassed. Though, that isn’t quite the case– months on the road have trained him in a way books and lectures never could, and even if he can’t quite recite the history of Orsterra or name the first daughter of Hornburg’s second king, he can whip up a mean potion and a salve that could tend to the worst of wounds.

Even so, in his tattered (“well-loved”) jacket and a pair of uneven trousers (one pantsleg was ripped off by an injured dog he nursed back to health), he feels that maybe he’s not entirely welcome in this high-class teahouse, right in the center of town.

“Relax, dear,” Primrose says, and that’s easy for her to say, seeing that she looks good in everything, from the dazzling red dancer’s attire she wore a year ago to her simple white dress with a blue bow tied on her waist. “No one’s going to kick you out. I did say you were with me, after all.”

“Still... Therion can’t get Cyrus here fast enough,” Alfyn replies, fidgeting with his satchel.

“–Speak of the devil.” Primrose raises her head, and Alfyn turns around. “Good to see you, Professor.”

“Primrose, Alfyn!” Cyrus takes a seat, Therion quickly tailing behind him (and attracting a few stares). “Pray forgive me for my tardiness. I was not expecting visitors.”

“I found his dead asleep with his nose in a book. Had to break in to wake him up,” Therion explains nonchalantly.

“I see that nothing’s changed, then!” Alfyn lets out a hearty laugh, and a few more heads turn towards their table.

Therion rubs his temples. “Why’d you have to choose this place to meet, Primrose? Wouldn’t the tavern have done well enough?”

“I heard the truffle dishes here were positively out of this world,” Primrose explains. “Besides, with all the monster-slaying tasks we’ve done, we can afford a little better than a pint of beer and a stuffy inn room to drown our sorrows in.”

“It sounds I have much to catch up on, regarding your travels.” Cyrus says this, while he remembers the state they left Primrose in– they all accompanied her back to Noblecourt, though their individuals goals had already been fulfilled. She had no desire to stay in her hometown, its image marred and her hands bloodied; so she took right back to adventuring. Everyone else had homes to return to, except Therion, who decided that perhaps traveling with company wasn’t so bad after all, and Alfyn, whose goal to help anyone he could across the whole of Orsterra was far from finished. As disastrous (in certain ways) they all were, everyone trusted that the three of them could take care of each other, no matter what they faced on their journey.

Besides, Primrose isn’t the type to accept being coddled. At least, not for too long of a time.

As for himself, Cyrus hit the books immediately when he returned to Atlasdam, enlisting the help of trusted peers to transport the walls upon walls of lost tomes from Lucia’s hideout to the local library. He always told himself that he’d visit Ophilia one day, or cross the strait and see how Tressa is doing, perhaps travel the distance and check on Olberic– but a man such as he is too easily distracted by dusty tomes to keep those promises. Days turn to weeks, to months, and H’aanit once had tea with him while making her way to the Frostlands, but that was it.

At least, he is very diligent with penning his letters; specifically, always ensuring he gracefully weaved in a piece of new trivia he learnt into his greetings and well-wishes, because his companions would always do good with more knowledge. But the three of them, Primrose, Therion and Alfyn, did not quite have a fixed address he could send much of anything to.

They had a lot of catching up to do. However, before that...

“Perhaps I could tell you a few tales,” Primrose hums. “But we did not come here for that. At least, not yet.”

Therion reaches into his bag. “This is the letter from Kit the impresario gave us.”

“There’s a kid we ran into a few times on our journey,” Alfyn explains. “His name’s Kit, and told us he was on a journey to find his father. Recently, he went off all on his lonesome, only writing back to say he was off to visit some ruins in Hornburg.”

“...Ruins in Hornburg?” Cyrus nods. “I suppose, if his family is of Hornburgian descent...”

“Maybe... but something just ain’t sitting right with me, and I’m not the only one.” Alfyn takes the letter, before carefully unraveling the string tied around it to let Cyrus read. “We’re worried for the kid.”

“Which is why we made our way here,” Primrose says. “Needless to say, finding him with no leads would be an impossible feat. You’re our best bet to deciphering what and where the ‘ruins’ he describes is, Professor.”

“Leave it to me,” Cyrus says. “Hm... led by a woman? Towards the Gates of–”

– _hrk._

“What’s wrong, Professor?” Alfyn pipes up. “You’ve suddenly gone pale.”

Cyrus clears his throat, putting the letter down on the table. “Tell me... what do you know about the Gates of Finis?”

As he scans the expressions of his companions, he sees that the name instills no real emotion from them. He has to start explaining from the very beginning. “These ruins he wants to visit... it is not a site of ordinary rubble.”

Therion lowers his gaze. “How bad is it? What are we dealing with?”

Cyrus thinks to himself, for a moment. “Whatever I say next, do not panic.”

“That’s just makin’ me panic all the more, Professor,” Alfyn replies, his worry growing by the second. “What’s with those gates?”

“I fear that the Gate of Finis is, simply put...” Cyrus looks back up, meeting everyone at eye level. “The gate to the underworld.”

“What?” Primrose’s eyes narrow. “So, you’re saying...”

“But that’s not all.” Cyrus interrupts, his tone becoming more serious. “From the books I’ve salvaged, I have learnt and translated a great deal of information. Particularly, regarding the beliefs of the High Hornburgian. Indeed, the Gates of Finis is the line between the realm of the living and the dead, but that’s not all. Beyond those gates lies the Dark God, Galdera.”

“Are you serious?!” Alfyn nearly jumps up from his seat in panic. “Galdera... that’s the sealed deity! Didn’t Mattias try to break his seals using Ophilia’s sister, Lianna?”

“Yes, one and the same,” Cyrus confirms. “However, this is all unconfirmed. Information scryed from ancient scrolls and apocryphal records. Not a single soul has passed through the Gates of Finis and lived to tell the tale.”

Primrose rises from the table, leaving her food untouched. “Hearsay or not, our friend is likely in grave danger.”

“What’s the plan?” Therion gladly accepts the cue to hustle out the place. Primrose drops a huge tip on the table and hopes they won’t ask after them as they slip off to someplace a little less crowded. “Follow him to Hornburg? We still don’t have any map or directions. I don’t think the location of the gates of hell itself is information that your average tavern patron will know about, so slinking around for tips is out of the question.”

“If I may,” Cyrus interrupts. “Finding a map may be a tad too convenient, but I could very well estimate its location with additional research. As luck would have it, much of Lucia’s collection focused on the concept of immortality. The unending, obsessive study to obtain control over life and death. Naturally, the Gates of Finis come up several times. With a few nights of focused efforts, I shall pinpoint where we should begin our search... assuming the Gates of Finis even exist.”

The four of them make their way through the streets, before ascending up the cobblestone steps towards Atlasdam’s proud library. “That’s right...” Alfyn nods. “Could it even exist? It sounds a lil’ too fantastical.”

“If anything, I’ve learnt that the fantastical can be all too real,” Primrose says in response.

“Not only that, but we have another piece of evidence pointing towards its genuinity.” Cyrus seems to stare off to nowhere in particular– the expression that always crosses his face when he’s deep in thought. “Do you remember? When we struck Werner down at Riverford?”

“The man who brought Hornburg to ruin.” Therion thinks. “The same man Olberic tracked down to slay... yes. Olberic asked him for the reason why.”

“I still remember his outburst,” Alfyn mutters. “Olberic’s fury when he heard that Hornburg was just brought down for a pair of gates... wait!”

“I see we’ve arrived to the same conclusion,” Cyrus says. Primrose gently takes his sleeve and tugs him to the side a little so he doesn’t walk straight into someone else– Cyrus barely notices. “Werner... he said that the Gates of Finis were in Hornburg. A madman’s ramblings is one thing; but the words of a man who was determined enough to orchestrate a kingdom’s destruction?”

Therion almost gets stopped at the library doors again, but Cyrus gestures at the guards, signalling that Therion’s with him. “For a thief,” Alfyn jabs, “you sure ain’t an expert at looking unsuspecting, are you?”

“I’d have put in more effort if I was truly planning a robbery,” Therion retorts. “I don’t care for all these books. They could fetch a good price, but I don’t want to steal anything that’s likely been poked all over by Cyrus’ nose.”

Cyrus’ train of thought suddenly derails. “...Excuse me?”

“You’re excused,” Therion says. “Anyway, whoever is leading Kit there likely has ulterior motives. Just like Mattias to Lianna. We’d best prepare for a fight.”

“And they’ll put up a good one,” Primrose adds on. “No doubt about it. So... shall we start by bolstering our numbers?”

Primrose lets a smile slip onto her face. “Good idea,” Alfyn says, giving her a thumbs-up. “Go and allure the strongest-looking guy around here!”

“...Well, that could work, but that wasn’t exactly what I meant,” Primrose hums. “After all, were we not the strongest with a full group of eight?”

Cyrus pulls out a book from the shelf, putting it on top of an unoccupied table. “An excellent idea. Our foe will likely not be an easy one, and if we are to save your adventurer friend, we should bring reliable allies along.”

Therion nods. “And who more reliable and those who walked the length of the world with us?”

“Sounds good!” Alfyn gives Therion a thumbs-up. “Man, just a few months ago, I was surprised to even hear a ‘I can count on you’ come out of your mouth. Guess you’ve loosened up a bit, huh? Excited to see anyone in particular again?”

“...None of your business,” Therion says, pulling his scarf up to conceal half of his face as he breaks eye contact with Alfyn. “We’d best get to informing them.”

Cyrus drops about a dozen more books on the table, and they fall onto the oak with a _thud._ “I shall waste no timing in penning them each a letter in advance! Meanwhile, as I am researching, the three of you would be best of splitting your forces to check on them individually. After all, letters won’t do much if they aren’t home to receive them.”

“I’ll travel through the Woodlands and pay dear H’aanit a visit,” Primrose volunteers.

“And I’ll head to the Frostlands and find Ophilia,” Alfyn says.

“...I’ll cross the strait and inform Tressa,” Therion says, adding a sigh. “What of Olberic?”

Cyrus puts down about fifteen more books on the table, before wiping his brow. “Olberic... yes, as a former knight of Hornburg, he should be privy to useful information. I will question him on all he knows. He has always responded to my letters swiftly. I am sure I will have no problems coordinating with him!”

“...Alright, however...” Primrose eyes the growing mound of books. “Professor, by the time you get through all those books, I fear that Kit’s fate will already be far out of our hands.”

“Ah, but your underestimate me!” Cyrus lets a grin slip over his face. “One night of burning midnight oil, and I shall find the answers we seek. Besides, I shall not be the only one tackling this momentous task. Indeed, in the year we have been apart, I have taught my students a great many things. Enough so that I should trust them to scry through the pages with me! In particular, I am sure Therese will be thrilled to study these tomes, and for a reason as urgent as you have presented me, she will not rest till the case is solved!”

“Well... I do believe she will do her best, but perhaps not for the reasons you might think of,” Primrose sighs. “That is besides the point, however. Time is of essence; I hate to cut our reunion short, but we must be on our separate ways.”

“Of course.” Cyrus pulls out a chair, and opens one of the books. A cloud of dust immediately puffs up from its decades-old pages, sending Alfyn into a coughing fit. “I shall conduct my research, and await the good tidings!”

“Please be more quiet in the library,” the librarian reminds. Alfyn covers his mouth and nods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i tried to imply with Primrose's white dress that she's cleric subjob, but i'll generally try to finalize their subjobs when i write the following chapters. i'm trying to follow the subjobs of my own party that cleared, but some of them are... interesting (thief!tressa says hi) and not really IC so i might change them LOL.
> 
> this is a novelization of the Gates of Finis dungeon because ALL THAT JUICY LORE SHIT IS BEING DROPPED AND SPOOKY SHIT IS HAPPENING AND NONE OF THEM EVEN SAY ANYTHING, WTF??? LITERALLY JUST BEATING THE GOD OF LIFE AND DEATH WITH A NOD AND WINK MY FRIENDS WELCOME TO OCTOPATH TRAVELER
> 
> also it's 1 year after all chapter 4s finish because IT SURE FELT LIKE A YEAR, GRINDING UP TO 70 TO ACTUALLY BEAT HIM
> 
> next chapter will be Alfyn finding Ophilia! will be finished... soon. maybe.


	2. the flamebearer

The Frostlands are an unforgiving place, even for a well-prepared traveler. Alfyn has, out of good sense and a handful of coin, bought a set of much thicker capes and hats for this journey. But a pair of warm mitts and fuzzy boots isn’t enough to shake off the feeling of loneliness that comes with being in such a snowy, desolate place. As gorgeous as the white landscape is, the lack of life compared to a wooded, green area is too stark to shake.

And it’s been a long time since Alfyn has travelled anywhere alone.

With a myriad of adventures behind him, there’s nothing out here that can really endanger him, in a sense... but that’s hardly the point. “Flamesgrace, Flamesgrace... it really does feel further away than before,” Alfyn mutters, tucking his hands under his pits to stay warmer. “Can’t wait to stop by its tavern and order a nice, big mug of hot chocola–”

“HELP!”

The shrill cry immediately grabs Alfyn’s attention, and like a moth to the flame, he breaks into a sprint with no hesitation. “Someone’s in trouble!!”

Rushing through the snow, he pulls out his axe and scans the area around him, looking for the source of the sound. It’s hard to see through this perpetual snowfall, but eventually, he makes out the figure of a looming beast, and the voice of a young boy rings out again– “AAAAH! HELP ME!”

“Sit tight, kid!” Alfyn roars back. “I’m coming–”

“Fire Rune! And then... take this!”

With a spark of fire, as if descending from the heavens, the beast is felled in one hit. Alfyn takes a step back, letting the dust settle before approaching.

There’s only one person who knows how to do that. One of the people who faced down Balogar, the Runeblade...

Ophilia opens her arms, letting the child run up to her. “Are you alright? Were you hurt anywhere?”

The boy shakes his head between his sobs, and Alfyn puts his axe back. “Seems like someone beat me to it,” Alfyn comments, and Ophilia looks up in surprise.

“Oh! Alfyn! It’s so good to– ah, but we should get him back home first,” Ophilia says, quickly taking the boy’s hand. “Shall we go?”

“‘Course.” Alfyn looks at Ophilia, from the valkyrie headband nestled in her hair to the whites of her dress and, well, he’s always thought she was a lovely lady, but _now..._ maybe it’s the passage of time messing with his memories, but it almost feels like she’s become twice as beautiful.

Not quite a professional thing to think about, regarding a woman of the cloth. Or a good friend, for that matter. Thankfully, Alfyn has the good sense to keep his thoughts to himself.

Ophilia, bless her heart, takes it upon herself to personally escort the boy back home. Unwilling to burden Alfyn with the whole journey, she tells him to head towards the church first. “You must be freezing,” she says, and maybe his shivering might be a little too obvious. When he walks through the doors and tells the clerics at the entrance that he’s Ophilia’s friend, they don’t miss a beat before draping him in a warm cloak and pulling out a bowl of winter vegetable soup. It’s not quite the hot chocolate he was looking forward to, but it’ll more than do.

“Alfyn!” She’s smiling from ear to ear when she runs in, nearly forgetting her manners in her excitement. “Goodness, it’s been so long. You look well, bless the Flame. How fares the others?”

“Primrose and Therion are as good as they’ve ever been,” Alfyn says. “Maybe a bit better, even. How about you? Looks like you haven’t slacked on combat one bit, have ya?”

Ophilia nods. “I’ve been practicing the skills I’ve learnt from adventuring with all of you. I wouldn’t consider myself an expert, of course.”

 _Most people would be pretty impressed at that one-shot,_ Alfyn thinks to himself. “Well, I’d argue with that... but unfortunately, I’ve got some important things to tell ya first.”

Her smiles fades slightly, sensing the severity of Alfyn’s tone. “Yes. Speak your mind.”

“So, you remember... that cult and dark lord Mattias tried to manipulate Lianna into summoning, right?”

Her hands clench suddenly, and Alfyn doesn’t miss it. She’s sharper than most would see her for, and Ophilia can already guess where this conversation is going. “Of course.”

“We’ve got reason to believe that some no-good bastard is trying to do something similar,” Alfyn spits right out. “And he’s roped a friend we’ve met on the road into it. From what we know, they’re heading towards the Gates of Finis in Hornburg, where Cyrus says the dark god Galdera is sealed.”

“Knowing you...” Ophilia closes her eyes. “You would go across the world to save them, wouldn’t you?”

Alfyn nods. “I would.”

“Then, I shall accompany you,” Ophilia replies, steel in her voice and warmth in the smile that slips onto her face. “Not just out of duty to the Sacred Flame. I would not sit idly by as my friends rush head-on into danger.”

“I was hoping I would hear that.” Alfyn grins. “Primrose is finding H’aanit, while Therion’s informing Tressa. I think Cyrus will be getting Olberic, too. We need all the help we can get. Prevention’s better than the cure, right?”

“But, should the illness took root, we shall be ever the ready to treat it.” Ophilia rises to her feet. “Time must be of the essence. I will pack and prepare to go as soon as possible... but please allow me to speak to Lianna and the guardsmen first.”

Of course. Alfyn would never drag Ophilia away into a potentially life-threatening situation without letting her speak with her beloved sister. But, out of curiosity...

“Why the guardsmen?”

“Oh, I have been training the guardsmen of Flamesgrace,” Ophilia explains. “The skills I’ve learnt from Balogar have gifted me with quite a way with swords... not anywhere as good as Olberic, of course, but enough to let me do my part. Our defense has also greatly strengthened with the powers of runes. Before I leave, I have need to give them their training schedule. I’m sure they wouldn’t slack whilst I’m gone, but they might still need extra directions. After all, they did let a little boy wander out of town... I must get to the bottom of the situation.”

...

Impressive...

“Take all the time you need,” Alfyn says. Ophilia quickly walks off, tending to her business as promptly as possible, while Alfyn sits back down and stares into his soup.

He doesn't even notice it's gone cold when he drinks it all down in one gulp.

“Damn,” Alfyn mutters. “She’s one hell of a lady.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lowkey one-sided alfyn/ophilia shipper btw but there will be no ships here, this is a child-friendly fic with only a little bit of otherworldly evisceration coming up,
> 
> next up primrose is gonna find ~~best girl~~ h'aanit


End file.
